


You'll Never Know What I Taste Like

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [330]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Feelings Realization, First Time, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, Pining while fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:27:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24073684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Sonny's pretty sure a one-night stand is going to change things. Barba does not concur.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Series: Mental Mimosa [330]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1012767
Comments: 18
Kudos: 90





	You'll Never Know What I Taste Like

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 'You know this is just a one-time thing, right? So you’re not gonna be weird about this?'  
> Prompt from this [generator](https://colormayfade.tumblr.com/generator).

“You know this is just a one-time thing, right?”

Sonny swallowed in the darkness; the dumb, dopey smile was still hanging out on his face. “Of course,” he said, “yeah, I mean--”

Barba talked right over him. “So you’re not gonna be weird about this.”

“Weird how?”

“Weird as in, thinking that fundamental nature of our relationship has been altered by the events of this evening.”

“You mean by us having sex?”

“Got it one,” Barba muttered.

“Oh. Well, er. It kinda does change things, doesn’t it?”

“No.”

Their shoulders kissed beneath the sheet and Sonny’s arm went up like a toll bridge, automatic, and pulled Barba in until the ADA’s face was pressed against Sonny’s neck. “Yeah,” Sonny said, grinning again--shit, it felt like he’d been at it all night, even since Barba had invited him over with some BS about celebrating the conviction of a top-tier sex trafficker with a 40-year old scotch--“it totally does. It’s gonna be different after tonight, Barba, it’s gotta be. Admit it.”

Barba’s teeth opened and closed against his throat; clever fingers climbed up the shelves of Sonny’s ribs, but Barba’s voice was cool, like Sonny was a cold fish he wanted to rattle on the stand. “There’s nothing to admit. You’re just wrong. Sex doesn’t have to change anything.”

Sonny laughed. “I’m pretty sure it does. I don’t usually go to bed with people I work with.”

“ _Go to bed with_?” Barba snorted. “Yeah, altar boy, color me unsurprised.”

He stroked the curve of Barba’s hip, hummed when Barba rocked against him. “Come on, it’s not a moral thing; it’s practical. I’m always afraid it’ll be awkward for everybody because there are zero secrets in a squad room, you know?”

“I’m sure there aren’t.” Barba’s breath was hot in his ear. “So like I said: since tonight’s a one-time thing, what is there for anybody to know? I’m sure as hell not going to say anything.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I don’t think it’s anybody’s business was a gorgeous dick you have. Or how hot you look when you’re getting sucked.”

There was a bloom of something awesome in his chest. “It’s not, huh?”

“Damn right it’s not.” Barba raised his head and sighed against Sonny’s lips. “Fuck, I should’ve let you come in my mouth when I had the chance. You wanted to, didn’t you? God, you looked so pretty like that, sprawled out on my fucking couch.”

The world was doing that spinny thing again, the same tilt-on-its-side number it’d done when Barba had plucked the glass from Sonny’s fingers an hour before and then reached slowly, inexorably, perfectly for the uneven knot in Sonny’s tie.

“If you don’t kiss me in the next 10 seconds, Detective,” Barba had said, his fingers brushing the column of Sonny’s throat, “then you’ll never know what I taste like.”

The words, the touch, the want in Barba’s face--for a moment, Sonny hadn’t been able to think, much less compute. “Um,” he’d managed, the air in his lungs suddenly concrete. “What?”

Barba had looked him dead in the eye and touched his throat again, each fingertip like an ember. “This is a one-time offer, Carisi. Going, going, and it’s--”

 _Gone_. But it hadn’t been, because Sonny’s body caught up with his ears and Barba was pinned beneath him and their mouths were smashed together and Barba was squeezing his ass and making these hot little sounds every time their tongues touched and it’d been better than every single dream Sonny’d ever had because Barba was fierce and Barba was grabby and Barba had wanted him, bad, had said so over and over with Sonny’s cock in his face and Sonny’s hands hands in his hair and through their stuttered steps down the hall until they were both naked and Sonny was holding Barba open on the bed, two fingers sunk in where his tongue had just been with Barba was writhing and cursing and so fucking gorgeous that Sonny hadn’t been able to resist.

“I need a condom,” he’d blurted, wiping his fingers on the sheets and staring at the damp bloom between Barba’s cheeks. Nothing had felt real for a second; was he really there in Barba’s bed, his knees digging into cream-colored sheets, the man he’d had a crush on for years, ok, _years_ , there, right there, all his to touch?

Couldn’t be. He’d fallen asleep at his desk or something, that was all. If he closed his eyes and opened them again, the curve of Barba’s ass would be gone, and the smell of Barba’s skin: golden and woodsy, like scotch, mixed the tinny sweetness of lube, the burn of his own breath. Close your eyes, he’d told himself, clawing for a second at the bed; open them. It’s a dream.

But then Barba was glaring at him, staring back over one gorgeous, trembling shoulder. “What you need,” he’d snarled, “is to fuck me.”

And shit, that was it--hello, goodbye, and sayanora to good sense.

He’d knocked Barba on his back and pressed in too hard and too deep and Barba had clung to him, rolling his hips up in fast, unforgiving waves. He’d clawed at Sonny’s ass and smacked him hard, told him to do better, and then Sonny was holding him down and roaring, pulling Barba’s wrists above his head and holding him still every time Sonny slammed home and Barba had thrown his head back and filled the room with Sonny’s name and something in Sonny had broken in the most wonderful fucking way and he’d come so hard he’d seen the stars--hell, he’d felt like one, a big white supernova, a diamond shattering and spilling light all across a dark, open sky.

“Oh, my sweet boy.” Barba’s voice had been like silk, tattered, a fever over Sonny’s cheek. “Just like that, fuck. Fill me up.”

He’d driven in again and held himself there, instinctive, groaning when Barba made a high, desperate sound and pulled hard at Sonny’s grip.

“There,” Barba had whined. “Right there.” 

Sonny’d dipped his head and pressed their temples together. Rocked in again slow, but he’d had to push; the crush of Barba’s body around him was almost too much. “Is this how you need it?” he’d slurred. “Is this what you need from me, baby? You need me to hold you down and make you take everything I can give you?”

“Oh, fuck,” Barba had said, very sharply, very softly. “I do, oh fuck me, _fuck_ , honey. Give it to me again.”

One more shove, he’d managed, just one, and then there’d been heat between them and the sour sweet smell of spunk and Barba had whimpered like he was hurt and turned his mouth to Sonny’s and they’d kissed again and again, ragged and slow, a messy slide of tongues and teeth and lips that had kept on even after Sonny let go of Barba’s wrists and pulled free; Barba had rolled right back into his arms and kissed him again.

“Lemme get up for a sec,” Sonny had made himself say finally. “Let me get a washcloth, huh, and clean you up.”

“I’m fine.”

“Right now, sure, but in 20 minutes, you’re gonna be bitching about it.”

Barba had harrumphed. “I don’t bitch, Carisi.”

“Well, no, you’re not gonna in this particular instance, ok, ‘cause you’re gonna let me get up.”

Now, the washcloth was barely cooling on the floor and Barba was hot against him again and saying stuff about how this was never going to happen again but also--Sonny’s swiss cheese brain reminded him--talking about sucking his cock, which was both weirdly dissonant and 100% apropos given that Barba had spent 90% of the last three years giving Sonny shit while apparently really wanting Sonny’s dick, which was--huh.

“So,” he said, reaching up to pet Barba’s five o’clock shadow, “explain something to me.”

Barba preened into the touch with a smirk. “I’d much rather talk about your dick.”

“Yeah, I know, I know. Humor me.”

“Hmph. Fine.”

“How the hell can you think that this won’t change anything?”

****

Rafael rolled his eyes to the moon and back; it still didn’t feel fucking far enough to convey the sheer _seriously_? “Let me guess,” he said, “you’ve never had a one-night stand.”

Carisi’s cheeks went pink, which should not have been adorable, but never mind. “With somebody from a bar or something, sure, but not with anybody I knew.” He bit his lip and stopped there but Rafael heard the rest, loud and clear: _With anybody I_ like.

Well, fuck. But it served him right, didn’t it? He’d known what he was doing, he’d known where this was going to go: the second he’d turned from the jury triumphant and seen Carisi in the first row of gallery grinning back, he’d taken the first step down this path. He knew Carisi wanted him, had for fucking ever, and right then, he’d needed that kind of worship; it was better than any bottle. He’d looked in Carisi’s eyes--in the courtroom, at his front door, on the leather folds of his couch--and he’d wanted to drown.

And he had. Dear God, had he. 

Everything had gone according to plan, except--

Except he hadn’t expected to like it so much.

The feel of Carisi’s hands on his shoulders, knotted in his hair. The hot, soft sounds he made at he lifted his hips to meet Rafael’s mouth. The look on his face when he’d finally, fucking finally, pushed in: something more than lust, more than long-banked desire--Carisi was _happy_ , heart-churningly, sickeningly, beautifully happy to be there with him and for a brief matchstick of a second, Rafael had felt loved and worse, he’d felt _love_ and oh, fuck that was--

Terrifying.

So he’d slapped Carisi’s ass and barked at him, bitched at him, done all the things he could think of to make it feel more like a quick fuck but it hadn’t mattered, even when Carisi had grabbed his wrists and got him straining for harder, better, faster; even then, it hadn’t felt anything like a goddamn one-night stand. It’d felt like the start of something wonderful, goddamnit, and not simply an expedient means to an end.

And now, this, this was even worse: Carisi soft-eyed beneath him, those long hands gently learning the lines of his shoulders and his back as they lay in the shipwreck of Rafael’s sheets and Rafael wanted nothing more than to curl into the man and kiss him until there was no choice but for him to stay tonight and tomorrow and all the fucking rest so Rafael would never have to give up this feeling, the warm coffee shot in his veins that made the world stop at the crest of the bed. Nothing had any relevance for him now beyond the way the damp heat of Carisi’s thigh and the tangle of dark hair on Carisi’s chest which smelled like sweat and come and the soft promise of Carisi’s stupidly beautiful mouth which Rafael was touching now, tracing with the tip of his finger because it was better than opening his own again and saying something foolish like _I’ve spent a long time trying to talk myself out of caring about you but I can’t and I’m pretty damn convincing so apparently I adore you and that scares the shit out of me so would you kiss me or shove your fingers inside me so I don’t have to think_?

But then Carisi’s hand was on his face, thumb turning over Rafael’s cheek, and the lips beneath Rafael’s fingers had lost their contented little curve. “It’s ok,” Carisi murmured. “Just ‘cause I’ve never done this before doesn’t mean that I can’t. You’ve just--you’ve gotta tell me what I should do, that’s all.”

“What you should do?”

“Yeah, you know.” Carisi’s eyes fluttered and landed warily in his. “How I should act and stuff the next time we see each other at work, when you come by the squad or whatever. Should I not talk to you? Should I wait for you to talk to me?” He didn't wait for an answer. “I mean, if you never wanted to like chit-chat or anything after this, I’d understand. I can keep it strictly professional; that’s not a problem.”

Which was exactly what Rafael should want to hear, right? Sure it was. If he were sane. If something ineffable and frankly fucking mysterious about this enormous, _fervoroso_ boy hadn’t kicked all sense out of his head long, long before Rafael had gotten the man’s pants down around his ankles and his mouth on that glorious fucking cock and looked up to see Carisi beaming back him, radiating sunshine from every single pore and making that hot little sound every time Rafael lapped at his slit and and stringing his hand in Rafael’s hair and holding him just this side of not tight enough and--

“Or, ah,” Carisi said. Oh good, the self-flagellation train was still rolling. “I could transfer. That opening in Brooklyn’s closed, you know, but I could put the word out that I’m interested in the next seat.”

“No,” Rafael said without thinking, with _knowing_ , and there it was: his decision. Just like that.

Carisi blinked up at him. “Huh?”

“No,” Rafael said again, louder, for the hard of hearing and fucked out. “No, I don’t want you to transfer, Carisi. No, I don’t want to forgo all semblance of polite conversation in public just because of all this.”

“Oh.”

Rafael sat up a little, looming down into Carisi’s pretty, startled face. “And no,” he growled, “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, either, ok?”

****

Had he just heard that? 

Had Barba really just _said_ that?

...what the hell did that mean?!

Sonny gulped down a breath. “You, ah--you saying we could give it another go sometime, the whole me, um, coming in your mouth thing?”

The look on Barba’s face was--interesting. “If you want.”

“If I want,” Sonny said. “Huh. The idea holds no appeal for you, then?”

That gets him a glare. “Pretty sure I didn’t say anything like that, at all."

“Didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Mmm.” He let himself touch the swell of Barba’s shoulder. “I didn’t hear an affirmative case, though.”

Barba made an amused noise and stared him dead in the eye and there was a steel there, in that look, in the sudden grip he got in Sonny’s hair, that made Sonny’s whole body blush. “I want to suck your cock, Carisi,” Barba said slowly, damn well deliberately. “I want to hold your hips down and feel how bad you want it and take my time with you, tease it out of you, until the only thing you can say is my name.”

“Oh my god.”

“And then, _amado_ , and then I want to fall asleep in your arms and wake up with the knowledge that if we want to, we can do this all over again. Would you like that?”

“Yes,” Sonny said. He was smiling so hard, suddenly, that he could barely get the word out. “Yeah, Rafael, yeah, _yes_.”

And then Barba was reaching, Barba was turning, Barba was caging him against the bed, his knees pinned to Sonny’s hips and his hands curled on either side of Sonny’s head.

“Thank fuck,” Barba breathed, and now he was grinning too, right down into Sonny’s face. “I’m really not the love ‘em and leave ‘em type.”

“You’re not, huh?”

“No. I’m a goddamn picky bastard. Don’t just go for every pretty face with a badge and a JD.”

“So I should consider myself lucky.”

“Damn straight.” Their mouths met; their cocks did, too. When Barba raised his head, they were both panting. “But I should warn you,” Barba said, “I’m a terrible boyfriend. Or so I’ve been told loudly and repeatedly for the past twenty years.”

“I’ve seen you yell at a judge,” Sonny managed, because whoa, _boyfriend_? “And swear at a priest, that one time. I know what I’m in for here.”

“But you have to promise me one thing.”

Sonny licked into Barba’s mouth because he can, because Barba made a pleased little sound when he did it. “Whatever you want.”

“Per my previous statement: you can’t be weird about this.”

“Me, weird? I’m not weird."

“Bullshit. You’re weird about pretty much everything, Carisi.”

Sonny laughed and it felt like there were fireworks in his chest, screaming eagles doing cartwheels around his ribcage and bouncing off his heart. “Barba, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this whole night’s been weird, in like the best fucking way.”

“Has it?” Barba’s voice was thick and lazy. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Forget it,” Sonny said. He scratched at Barba’s back. “We’ll talk about it later, or something, huh?”

“Or something,” Barba said against his lips, then his throat. “Or not.” His mouth turned over Sonny’s chin, his breastbone, his ribs, and when Sonny looked down, fuck, there was that grin--brighter now than before, even, full of the promise of not just tonight but tomorrow and tomorrow, and more. “Or maybe you could be a good boy and come down my throat without bitching about it, huh?”

“Mmm,” Sonny said, smiling down at that dark head like the lovesick dope that he was, that he could be out loud at fucking last. “Rafael, please.”

Blue eyes found his; smokey, like sea glass. “Now how in the hell am I supposed to argue with that?”

“See, that's the trick. You’re not.”

He felt Barba’s smirk trail up his shaft. Heard the man whisper as loud as if he'd shouted it: “Don’t worry, honey. I won’t.”


End file.
